


Off the Market

by GoodJanet



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bad Sex, Clothed Sex, First Time, Gender or Sex Swap, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He fiddles with the handlink again, but I think I already know why I’m here, if the twenty in my bra is anything to go by.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Market

Finding out that I’ve leaped into the body of a young woman doesn’t surprises me. The skirts and dresses don’t bother me, though I wish it was more socially acceptable to forgo make-up. All that feels status quo. What freaks me out this time is that I’m a hooker.

I live at a crappy no-tell motel, and Cherry told me that I’m supposed to come here and wait to be picked up.

“Don’t overcharge, okay, Carmen? You know the johns ‘round here hate it when you get uppity.”

“Uppity?”

Where the hell was Al?

“I gotta go. You be careful, alright?”

I promise her, and then she’s off, leaving me half naked, cold, and scared. I fruitlessly try to pull down my mini skirt to cover my behind, but it only serves to show more of my midriff. Whose idea was it to invent crop tops anyway? 

And how am I supposed to get out of here?

Dread settles in when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn and see a rumpled, but clean guy approach me. He stops to finish off a bottle and then tosses it behind him where it shatters into a million amber pieces.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says once he’s close enough to see me.

“Look, I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Honey, the only mistake there’s been is that we’re standing here talkin’ instead of doing the bingo bango bongo.”

That immediately gives me pause. Can this disheveled boozer before really be my Al?

“What year is it?”

“1974.”

“You’re a POW,” I say without thinking.

“Gee, thanks for noticing. Maybe I’ll go find someone who’s actually interested in making a few bucks.”

“Al, wait!”

“You know my name?”

Damn it. Slip of the tongue…

“Let’s, ah, let’s go back to your place,” I say.

“Sure thing, baby.”

I try to smile as he snakes an arm around my waist and leads me to a rundown apartment a block over. Everything is so dirty and broken and rundown. We then walk up two flights of stairs and into a tiny apartment that’s at least cleaner than what was outside.

Where is Al? What’s taking him so long? It’s making me nervous.

“W-well, here we are,” I say.

Al sits down in his armchair and grabs a cigar from a box next to him. At least this is familiar. He searches for a lighter, I presume, but he obviously can’t find it.

“You got a light, sweetheart?”

God, where would I even keep it? These clothes are so tight. I check my bra and find a book of matches. He smiles gratefully.

“Look, I don’t think I should be here,” I say in a rush.

“No, you look,” he says. “I just got out of a Vietnamese POW camp that I was kept prisoner at for five goddamn years, and I come home and find my wife left me for another man. And now I live here instead of in the cutesy little suburbs. And you’re telling me that your pimp is going to be okay with you scurrying home penniless?”

I swallow hard. I’ve never seen him get so angry so fast before. One minute asking for a light, and the next, he looked fit to kill me. I feel my knees buckle.

“Can I sit?”

He gestures to his lap, which also happens to be the only seat in the apartment. And so, gingerly, I do.

“There’s a good girl,” he says, not unkindly. “Now what’s your name?”

“My name is Sam, and I don’t have a pimp.”

I don’t care if Al knows my real name. I don’t have it in me to lie to him, even in a situation like this.

“That’s good.” He takes a puff. “Safer, usually. I’m not gonna ask you to do anything dangerous.”

“Al, I wanna go home!” I blurt, and I’m not sure which Al I’m really speaking to.

“Shhh, shhh. Something’s got you jumpy. Let’s take care of that, huh?”

“How?”

The hand not holding his cigar creeps up my skirt. I hear him moan when he discovers that I’m not wearing panties along with my thigh high hose.

“There’s twenty bucks in it for you, baby.”

Twenty bucks? Either I’m cheap, or Al’s broke…which I guess explains this whole situation.

I shouldn’t even _be_ here. Shouldn’t I be keeping some young girl off the streets? Or maybe reuniting one of the girls with her family?

But then it dawns on me. Maybe I was here to inspire Al to work on our project. Maybe I was supposed to inspire him to get his life back. I needed to get him on my side, and right now, there was only one way that I—well, my host—knew how to do that…

“Twenty’s a lot more than I usually get.”

He taps on my thigh so I’ll get up so he can stand. He leads me to the bedroom.

“You look so thin, honey. Gotta have money for groceries. Can’t work if you aren’t fed.”

I smile in spite of myself. Even this broken, sad, and drunken version of Al still cared about people. I’m sure that whoever I was was used to being pushed and grabbed and smacked, and here was Al talking about my safety and getting enough to eat.

“You’re a good man, Al.”

He ducks his head at that and grabs a bottle from his nightstand to take a swig. He drops his cigar in an ash tray before starting to undress.

“Wait!” I shout as he drops his belt. “Let’s keep our clothes on.”

“Sam, it’s pretty difficult to fuck around with certain bits covered.”

“I—I just mean that I’m not wearing any underwear right now, and you can, ah, just unzip…”

I trail off. I can’t make myself say it, even though I’m about to do it.

Al raises an eyebrow, but he looks like he’s too tired to argue with me again, which I am grateful for.

“Just let me do all the work,” I offer.

It’s the best I can come up with in the ten seconds I was given to think. I figure it’s better to make this more clinical than anything else.

He lays down on the bed and undoes his trousers. I sit down by him and watch with a blushing face as he pulls out his hardening dick. It’s kind of weird, knowing that _I’m_ the one that’s turning him on. Me, the choirboy! 

He jerks himself a few times, biting his lip before he turns back to me. I remind myself not to bolt.

“Alright, sweetheart. Your time to shine.”

I quickly straddle him before I lose my nerve and hope to god that I have the proper physical accommodations for him to enter me, either with lube or natural secretions. But as I sink down onto him, I realize I have nothing to physically worry about. With a little wriggling and maneuvering, I’m fully impaled on him. And I feel so full it’s distracting.

“Oh boy,” I whine.

“You’re doing great, baby. Just do your thing.”

My thing? I can’t even think straight. All I can focus on is Al’s hands gripping my hips and his big dick inside me and how he was looking up at me like he was in love.

When his hips buck up, I slowly begin raising and lowering myself onto him. I’m trying to remember what I’ve seen in pornos and dirty magazines and do my hardest to copy those girls. Al’s hands grip my hips and breasts, and yet the weirdest part isn’t that he’s touching me there but the fact that he can touch me at all. 

Where is my holographic pal anyway, damn it?

My train of thought is broke when I hear Al grunt beneath me. I look down and watch him mouth something. A name? I can't be sure. And even though I know I’m not very good at this, it’s not long before Al is moaning long and low, holding me tightly, and coming hard inside me. Everything suddenly feels very wet and nasty, and I can’t help but grimace.

Al opens his eyes just then and looks up at me with a lecherous grin that I know well. I take that as my cue to climb off him to sit beside him on the bed again.

“The twenty’s on the dresser, hon,” he says, patting my thigh.

“Why are you here, Al?”

He grabs his cigar from the ashtray.

“Got nowhere else to go, Sam.”

“Maybe—maybe you can get out of this place. Do something with science or tech?”

Al smiles indulgently.

“Kid, I’m about as likely to work with gizmos and science as you are. I appreciate the concern, but I think you’d better go find someone else to screw.”

I know I should go, but I can’t bring myself to go just yet.

“Al, I need you.”

“Yeah, that’s how my second wife tricked me into marrying her. I’m off the market right now, if you couldn’t already tell.”

“Okay,” I say dejectedly. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“See ya around, hon.”

I turn in the doorway.

“Bye, Al.”

I walk down the stairs and back in the direction of my motel room. My feet are killing me in these heels, and I’m dying for a shower. All I can think about is Al and how sad he looked.

I’m lost in my train of thought and don’t even hear the whirring of the imaging chamber or the handlink.

“Sam!” Al calls.

I stop in my tracks.

“Jesus Christ, Al, where have you been?”

“Sorry, Sam. Ziggy had a hard time getting a lock on you. Something about our brain waves conflicting."

“Does any of this look familiar to you?”

Al frowns and looks around.

“What?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing. What am I here to do?”

He fiddles with the handlink again, but I think I already know why I’m here, if the twenty in my bra is anything to go by.

“You are here to keep Jordan Matthews from joining you and the other girls on the street. She’s seventeen, dropped out of high school, and came here after leaving a bad home. Poor thing.”

I stare at Al, not believing a word he just said.

“So I’m not supposed to sleep with anyone as a hooker.” 

“Ah, no. Your name is Carmen Mink, but your birth name is Cassie Summers. Ziggy doesn’t say anything about you hooking on the leap.”

If I felt like I was going to pass out before, I certainly feel that way now.

“Sam?”

“Nothing,” I say again. “It’s nothing.”

No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to help Al in and out of ‘Nam, it never did either of us any good. Not one bit. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Sam, what’s going on?”

“Al, I need you.”

Al chuckles to himself.

“Yeah, that’s how my second wife tricked me into marrying her.”

“But you’re off the market right now?”

It’s a long shot, but I hope it works.

“Wait a second…,” he says.

I hold my breath, hoping he says something so I don’t have to when all of a sudden a young woman who looks far too clean and well-fed to be from around here approaches me.

“I’m Jordan. I was told to look for Carmen Mink?”

I shake my head and sigh. It looks as though our conversation will have to be delayed; there’s a life to be saved.


End file.
